


Last Night

by SnicketyLemon



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drunkenness, Fluff, House Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:43:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnicketyLemon/pseuds/SnicketyLemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein got a bit too wasted last night, whether or not he wants to admit it. So, being the good sport that he is, he called up his roommate to give him a ride home. Except it wasn't his roommate that his drunken self had dialed....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night

Last Night

The bass from the music pouring out of the speakers pounded in my chest, mixing with the constant buzz of tipsy chatter and overused pop melodies that flooded my ears. I sat by myself on the couch, nursing what I thought was my fifth drink of the night, watching people weave through the crowded living room with a scowl on my face.

Really, I don’t even remember how or why I ended up at that stupid party. When Armin asked if I wanted to join him and his friends, I turned him down, hell-bent on avoiding a house filled with intoxicated college kids and underage high-schoolers who had managed to wander inside. And yet, here I was, angrily downing the free booze that was offered to me.

“If you’re gonna be a prick, just go home,” a voice next to me called out through the noise. I lifted my head and glared at a face I really didn’t want to see.

“Fuck off, Jaeger,” I fumed. Eren was definitely the last guy I wanted to interact with that night.

“Dude, you’re wasted,” Eren laughed, bringing a can of some shitty beer to his lips and taking a few loud gulps. “Just go home, man, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

In some weird way, he might have been trying to be nice to me, but at the time I was too out of it to tell the difference and too stubborn to listen to anything that came out of his mouth. I heaved, groaning as I attempted to pull myself out of the thick cushions so I could punch him across the mouth, but all I succeeded in doing was falling back into the couch and spilling my drink all over the front of my shirt.

“Fuck,” I said, running my hand across the wet fabric and mourning the lost liquor.

“Jean, he’s right,” a second voice said. I looked up and saw my friend Armin walking over to me, Eren stepping up behind him. “You don’t look too good,” he insisted, taking the now empty glass from my hand. “I don’t think you should overdo yourself.”

I let out a long, melodramatic sigh, my head falling back as I rolled my eyes. They were right, I guess; I had been there for a few hours, taking full advantage of the free drinks and drowning out my haggard mind with free alcohol.

“Do you need a ride?” Armin asked as I looked up at him with hazy eyes. He extended his hand to help me up off the couch.

“Nah, Armin,” I replied, taking his hand and nearly pulling the smaller boy down on top of me as I struggled to find my balance. When I got on my feet, I ran my fingers through my hair and took a deep breath. “I’ll jus’ get my roommate to come’n get me, I guess….”

“Well, all right,” he said, steading me as I grunted out some sort of thank you. “Just…be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, giving him a tired smile and pushing my way through the crowd. I pulled out my phone and sifted through the contacts, my eyes barely able to focus on the bright screen as I slipped out of the open front door and onto the porch. I looked to my left and scowled: a couple was making out on a patio chair, grinding against one another desperately.

I clicked my tongue against my teeth and shook my head, trying my best not to stumble done the few small stairs that led out into the front yard. My legs shaking as I steadied myself on the rail, I sat down on the last step and continued searching for my roommate’s number.  I finally mashed his name with my thumb and brought the phone up to my ear, taking a deep breath.

“Hello?” his voice came after a few long rings.

“Hey, dude,” I started, clearing my throat. “Dude, I’m fucked up, y’need to come’n get me.”

“Is this…is this Jean?”

“Well, duh,” I said, laughing a bit to myself. “Anyway, dude…I’m at this house party on twenty-second street, and I’d love ya forever if y’could gimme a ride home. I’m…so wasted….”

I could hear him sighing loudly, away from the speaker. “Sure, I guess,” he said after a short pause. “I’ll be there in like fifteen minutes, just let me throw some clothes on.”

“Thanks dude, ‘preciate it,” I said, hanging up the phone and stuffing it back into my pocket. I brought my hands up to my forehead, massaging the temples in a fruitless attempt to dull the headache that seemed to pound in time with the music wandering out of the open door behind me.

“Fuck,” I muttered, leaning against the handrail and closing my eyes. I could feel my heart beating pretty hard in my chest, and my breathing was ragged and shaky. I would’ve given anything to just be teleported right into my bed back home at that point.

After forcing myself to take a few deep breaths, I managed to calm down a bit, my mind going quiet as the pain faded away for just a moment.

The next thing I remember is a strong arm hooked around my torso, the other steadying my from behind as someone attempted to hoist me onto my feet.

“All right, Jean,” a soft voice said to me, “let’s get out of here.”

“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, my eyes slipping open just enough for me to watch my shuffling feet. We stumbled a few times along the short path to the road out front, the jolting in my head growing with each heavy step. When I finally managed to get into the car, I closed my eyes and curled up into the seat, moaning into the sleeve of my shirt.

“You’re not gonna throw up, are you?”

“Nah,” I groaned, laughing a little. “I think I can make it home.”

“Okay,” the voice responded, pulling the seatbelt around me and clicking it into place. The car door shut gently next to me a moment later, the driver’s-side door opening and then closing shortly after that.

“Let’s…get outta here,” I mumbled, leaning against the cool glass window.

“Where do you live?”

“Dude,” I laughed, snorting a couple times. “You know where I live, c’mon.”

“Jean, I’m serious.”

“Hi, serious,” I snickered, “I’m Jean.”

I heard a loud sigh next to me as the engine turned over, gears shifting as the car began to move. The music that came from the radio was much softer than the pounding pop from the house party, and that coupled with the low hum of the motor quickly lulled me into unconsciousness.

The blackness parted for a moment as I was pulled carefully from the car, my weight pressing against the body next to me as we slowly made our way towards the darkened apartment building. My eyes slipped shut again, and when they cracked open I was lying shirtless in a mass of blankets, a darkened figure hovering over me as warm hands tucked me in. After that, my mind just shut off and I finally passed out, my inebriated body unable to keep me going any longer.

I woke up some time later—I’m not sure exactly how long—with my headache reduced to a dull, groggy haze that made it painful to make any sudden movements. A thick white comforter engulfed my body, my head half-buried in a thick pillow and another pillow clutched to my chest as I rested on my side, facing the wall. The light from the window was bright enough to irritate my burning eyes, so I quickly snapped them shut.

“Fuck, I groaned, nuzzling my head into the pillow and exhaling through my nose. “Why did I let myself do that again?”

My arms squeezed the pillow into a tight embrace as I inhaled sharply; the fabric smelled like detergent and Old Spice body wash, and a little something else that I couldn’t quite place. Did one of my roommates wash my bedding or something? Or maybe I threw up all over mine and they got me a clean blanket?

I rolled onto my back and covered my face with the pillow in my arms to blot out the light. I slowed my breathing, desperately trying to fall back asleep, but it was no use: my entire body ached, my muscles protesting against every tiny movement, the joints in my spine begging to be stretched.

I pulled the pillow away and sat up, staring down at my palms as they rested in the sea of white beneath me, my eyes adjusting slowly to the light.

When I turned my head to look around my room, I realized that it was, in fact, not my room at all. Nothing about the room—from the blue curtains hanging on either side of the window, to the messy black metal desk covered in books and papers, to the mass of clothes piled up in front of a closet full of things that weren’t mine—seemed even remotely familiar. My heart began to race and a chill washed over my back: I had no idea where I was.

Cautiously, I moved the blanket off of my legs and placed them on the floor, the wood underneath the thick beige carpet creaking a little as I shifted my weight and stood up. Tiptoeing to the open door, cold air attacking my bare chest, I peeked around the corner: there was a small, narrow hallway with a staircase at the end, just a few feet beyond the door. I looked back the other way and saw three more closed doors.

Being careful not to make a single sound, I crept down the stairs, which opened up to a living room with a small kitchen behind it. On the couch, opposite the stairs, was a man lying on the couch, his back towards me and a thin blue blanket covering his frame. When I reached the last step, the figure suddenly let out a soft sigh and began to shift, rolling towards me. I froze, my knuckles white as they clutched the handrail.

When the face came into view, however, my terrified expression melted into a heated blush.

“M-M-Marco?” I stammered, his dark eyes opening to look at me.

“Jean,” he said, giving me a tired smile as he yawned. “You’re awake.”

“Wh-what’s going on?” I asked, leaning against the wall behind me. “Why am I here?”

“You called me to come get you,” he replied, sitting up and letting the blanket slip from his shoulders. This only made things worse for me, however, because as it turns out he wasn’t wearing anything—from what I could tell, anyway—underneath that blanket. “Don’t you remember?”

“N-no,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck and averting my gaze. “I thought I called my roommate to come get me.”

“You must’ve dialed my number by mistake,” he said, chuckling softly as he pushed the blanket aside and stood up. My eyes darted back to his body, and I was slightly relieved and then even more flustered to see that he was actually wearing boxers.

“I g-guess so,” I said. “Why’d you come get me, though?” I asked, stepping into the living room as he pulled a pair of black pajama pants up to his waist. “We barely know each other.”

“I mean, you seemed in pretty bad shape,” he replied, smiling and balling up the blanket and tossing it on the floor next to the couch. “I wasn’t just gonna leave you there.”

“Oh…”

“Although,” he snickered, “I have to admit I certainly wasn’t expecting to get a call from you at two in the morning; I almost didn’t answer it.”

“I called you that late?!” I said. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry, Marco…I…”

“Jean, it’s okay,” He said, walking over to me and patting my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, wondering if the blush was as obvious to him as it felt to me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I remembered that I wasn’t wearing a shirt, only making me even more uncomfortable as Marco slipped past me to head up the stairs.

“Do you want to borrow a shirt?” Marco asked, gesturing to me to follow him. “You’d spilt something all over yours, so I took it off and threw it in the washer last night before heading to bed.”

“Sure,” I said, climbing the stairs and stopping at the entrance to his room. He was fumbling through the pile of clothes in front of his closet, picking up a faded red shirt.

“I think this is clean,” he said, smelling it and laughing softly. “Here.”

“Th-thanks,” I said, taking the shirt and pulling it over my chilled torso.

“I’ll go ahead and throw that stuff into the dryer for you, too,” he added, wriggling through the door frame and down the hallway. I turned and leaned against the wall, watching him as he fumbled with some clothes in the small laundry closet. When he bent down, my eyes couldn’t help but follow the curve of his tan back down to his…

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked suddenly, startling me as I blinked a couple times and nodded my head.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache still, but I’m not that bad,” I said. “I’ve had worse hangovers.”

“I see,” he said, turning back to start the dryer.

“N-not that I get drunk that often,” I stammered, taking a step towards him, “I just…got a little over-excited on my twenty-first, and, uh…”

“Jean,” Marco laughed, walking over to me and shaking his head, “it’s fine, I’ve been pretty messed up, too; I’m not judging you.”

“Oh, right,” I nodded again. I felt like such a fuckin’ idiot, standing there and gawking at him as he just eyed me with a sadistic smile.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, pressing his hand against my shoulder to lead me towards the stairs. “I can make some breakfast.”

“As much as I don’t want to impose, I’m starving,” I said, smiling back at him. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“Well, I’ve got eggs, bacon, bread for toast, some orange juice,” he said as we rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and headed towards the kitchen. “And I think I should probably get you some ice.”

“Why’s that?” I said, stopping and looking at him.

Reaching up, he placed his hand on the top of my head and messed my hair, snickering to himself.

“Your face looks like it’s about to catch on fire,” he smiled, “that’s why.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank Tumblr user seconcl-star-to-the-right for this AU suggestion, and hellyeahjeanmarco for being the catalyst behind it!
> 
> There may or may not be a continuation of this, if I ever get around to writing it! And maybe some frickle frackle. Depends....
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


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